


Something He Didn't Have Last Time

by Kasamira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark Harry, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slash, Slow Burn, Smart Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:10:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasamira/pseuds/Kasamira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After falling into the Veil Harry doesn't let Bella get away unscathed, unleashing an anger we've merely glimpsed before. This time Voldemort walks into a much darker version of Harry's failed Cruciatus, seizing his opportunity this story explores the results of Ministry take over at the end of OotP. Attempting to deal with the loss of Sirius, Harry grapples over his place in the new Wizarding World and the role he wants to play. </p><p>(Because I like a short version) Voldemort's a little saner, Harry's a little smarter, and we all still want Bella dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Light Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> I like introducing my own paradigm, I'm attempting to stay as closely aligned to canon events as possible. The only differences come in during the battle at the Ministry. I wanted to introduce an optative scenario- if only Harry's Crucio had worked? They say dark magic is addicting, Harry is especially vulnerable (having never dabbled, and so fresh after the loss of Sirius), and with Voldemort having assumed control (being a tad saner as well) events could have veered drastically.

Disclaimer: Friendship, like credit, is highest when it is not used. -Elbert Hubbard

 

"There's nothing you can do, Harry-"

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"

"it's too late, Harry-"

"We can still reach him-"

"There's nothing you can do, Harry... nothing... He's gone."

...a loud bang and a yell from behind the dais. Harry saw Kingsley, yelling in pain, hit the ground.

Bellatrix Lestrange turned tail and ran as Dumbledore whipped around. Wand raised.

...deflected it. She was halfway up the steps now-

scrambling up the stone benches... flashing out of sight... Once more he was surrounded by streaks of blue light... sprinting up the passageway... wand clenched tightly in his fist. A shield charm parried a nasty jet of red light, and an accompanying volley of curses, as he barreled through death eaters and into the atrium No more footsteps.

Silence.

She had stopped running.

His eyes frantically scanned the Atrium floor for signs of movement.

Nothing.

Head spinning and lungs gasping for air his harsh gasps for breath were the only sounds echoing off the marble floor.

Something sharp slammed into his back. A strangled gasp of pain left Harry, pitching forward, his hand automatically grasping for the wound between his shoulder blades, when a clawed hand gripped his hair from behind, tossing him backwards onto the marble flood, and forcing the blade further in.

Lestrange materialized in front of him.

'A Disillusionment charm,' he registered dimly.

He was on his back in the middle of the ministry floor, a knife in his back, another held to his throat.

"Going to kill me Potter?" she questioned, sparks of delight flashing in her eyes.

Harry laid there frozen. His hand still pinned behind him, sluggishly attempting to staunch the blood.

Eyes wide, struggling to breath against her weight on his chest, and the dagger slowly cutting a line of blood against his throat.

Gryffindor courage lost, he looked at her blankly.

"You can't kill me."

That was a lie.

Of course she could kill him. She'd made that obvious, but Voldemort would have her head for it. He wanted the honor of killing him himself.

Way things were going though, Harry wouldn't wager much on a witch who was clearly more than a tad touched in the head. Azkaban could do that to a person, if anyone would know he would, judging from all the time he'd spent with Sir- his mind lurched painfully.

"If you have a death wish go at it, pity I won't be here to see what He does to you." That Gryffindor courage, or stupidity, apparently hadn't reached his vocal chords yet.

Her grip on the blade faltered, her eyes blinked, and lost their edge, just for a second, she adjusted her grip, and eyes casting around the room nervously.

That second was all he needed.

Harry slammed his head forward, into her face, feeling her blade cut deeper into his neck, then hearing a satisfying crack that left Lestrange wheeling away. A shriek of rage and shock erupted from the witch's mouth.

Unwinding his hand from it's cramped position behind his back Harry twisted away from her, ripped the dagger out of his shoulder, slashing blindly at the raven haired woman.

It wasn't as bad as he'd thought, the blade had been slid upwards into his jacket and sweatshirt. Mostly.

Lestrange shrieked again, this time with more pain than rage, whipping her blade at him.

A warm gush of blood ran down his arm.

Adrenaline pumping he leapt at her, not bothering with spells or curses, she was out of weapons as far as he could see, slammed the witch's back against one of the pillars. Lestrange's head bounced off with a solid thump and this time it was his blade at the black haired witch's throat.

"Going to kill me Potter?" She repeated her earlier words, this time breathlessly, wild eyed, roving frantically across him and the atrium- catching on the fires, and on the floo powder next to them.

Blood was slowly trickling down his back, his head a tad fuzzy, mouth dry, Harry was really starting to feel the wounds on his shoulder and arm, they burned.

He blinked slowly.

Then jerked her hair violently away from the fires, bringing her attention back to his green.

"You've spent the last decade in Azkaban, you know there are things worse than death."

But why couldn't he kill her? He knew the spell, had seen it cast? She'd killed Sirius.

She'd killed Sirius.

Lestrange was mad.

No. She was a monster. Responsible for the deaths of countless innocent people.

He blinked again, slowly this time, something was wrong. He was having difficulty forming sentences, and his wand arm shook- this couldn't just be the blood loss. He felt cloudy... almost blank.

"Baby Potter doesn't know it," she whispered breathlessly her eyes lighting with cruel delight on his features and bringing him back to himself, "baby Potter doesn't know the spell. Can't even kill his precious godfather's killer. Tell me Potter, did you love him? Did you love my filthy blood traitor cousin?"

The blade shook in his hand, accidentally cutting a thin line on her throat. A single drop of blood trailed down his neck.

He ripped her black curls forward before slamming them back into the pillar again. "Don't you dare speak his fucking name." Harry couldn't even think it yet. Her delighted smile and breathless giggles in response did it.

"Crucio!" Harry wasn't even aware of a spell leaving his lips, never mind forming in his mind, the power welled up inside of him. His holly wand suddenly in his hand, knife abandoned, unforgivable on his lips. It gushed out the end of his wand, an awful sharp spell that seared the air around him

Bella screamed. If he hadn't experienced it himself last year, he'd have thought her throat was being torn apart, thrashing and writhing upon the Ministry floor, ragged nails splitting as they into polished stone.

The peacock blue walls above them seemed to shimmer in Harry's vision, his head pounded.

It was...delicious. Addicting. Head was running over his skin, and sending crackling sparks against the wall.

He'd heard dark magic was addictive but had never really believed it. But now an overwhelming giddiness flooded his veins, his wounds had stopped burning painfully, and Harry could swear he'd even stopped bleeding.

Lestrange had finally stopped screaming, but the echoes of it were still fading around them, they rang like bells on a church steeple.

He didn't remember lifting the curse.

Her wand leapt into his hand from where she'd been clutching at it weakly, still twitching at the curse's after effects.

Lestrange's eyes hadn't left him since she'd stopped screaming. Darkness stared at him, and her eyes felt like they were sinking into him, eyes that gave everything away.

Shock, fury, disbelief, fear.

Her eyes pulled him. His knees felt weak, and the pounding was back in his temples, the air felt heavy and he couldn't help but take great heaving breaths. It felt like he was gazing directly into her eyes from inches away, he could see every fleck in those dark eyes, dark eyes that reminded him so much of-

He could read her like a book, despite what Snape said, her thoughts came to him like words off the pages of the many tomes in the Hogwart's library. Tumbling and skittering at the edge of her mind, he couldn't look away, and it felt more like she was sinking into him than the other way around. He could see her, bits and pieces, feelings and emotions, pictures, and words. Maybe Snape had been right, he thought dazedly, struggling to make sense of anything. He was being slammed from all sides, her mind churned out dozens of thoughts into his. Her razor sharp reaction time she had, her plans for him, what she'd been planning if he tried the killing curse.

How she didn't believe he could ever successfully cast an unforgivable. Lacked the power, or the will, probably both she'd giggled to herself.

Words-thoughts of hers slammed into him.

"You have to mean them, Potter... you have to really want to cause pain- to enjoy it- I'll show you how it's done... give you a lesson shall I..."

Harry leaned down on the floor next to her, leaned over Bella's prone form on the icy Ministry tiles, the witch's body was still being racked by painful tremors.

"Your right Bella... you do have to mean them... to want to cause pain- to... enjoy it." Gryffindor caressed his wand down her face, her own thoughts tossed mockingly back at her.

"Give you a lesson shall I?" he repeated at her tauntingly.

Showed Bella her wand in his hand, as the tremors of the curse finally began to leave her body.

Ran a gentle hand over the hemlock wood, feeling the wand practically vibrate in his hand. LIke it just knew what he was about to do, Lestrange's eyes followed his every move.

Harry snapped it.

Bellatrix shrieked like banshee, horrified choked gasps coming from her mouth, yowling, and clutching at her hair as though he'd killed her child.

She launched herself at him, long yellow fingernails curled into claws, as though she intended to scratch his eyes out.  
She didn't get the chance, his next spell had the her forced up against the fountains side. Her back pressed sharply against the frozen stone, the water inside the fountain had stopped flowing, ice had frozen it over. Somehow Harry had failed to notice that before.

Lestrange's eyes scrambled over him frantically, mournfully connecting with her broken wand, searching for an escape that wasn't coming, a weakness in Harry's defense that wasn't appearing.

He hexed her.

Channeling his magic forcefully through his wand, and directing it.

"Aquagamenti," he intoned.

It was closer to midnight than to morning and the Ministry would be empty and vacant for at least half a dozen more hours.

He had plenty of time, no need for shouting.

Bellatrix's eyes which had widened frightfully when he's brandished his wand towards her, relaxed at the incantation of his intended spell. That mocking glint returning briefly into the former Slytherin's dark eyes.

It didn't stay long.

Harry's intent fed the spell, and instead of Bella being doused in water the witch suddenly gasped.

Choked deep in her chest, her mouth working furiously, eyes growing as wide as a House elf's.

A low gurgling noise came from her chest, and she began to gag silently.

Large gasping breaths coming from her abdomen, the woman clutched at her throat.

"Wh-what, Potter?" she gasped out as water began to trickle from her mouth, slowly at first, and then faster coming in streams until the liquid was pouring out of her mouth and tears rolling down her cheeks.

To Harry's utter disappointment she didn't last long.

Falling unconscious almost as soon as they'd started a quick Enervate brought her back.

Life flooded back into her eyes.

"Such a simple spell, we both learned it in our second year if I recall correctly. Such a simple spell... but with such useful means."

Harry smiled.

Bellatrix was still coughing and gagging though, out of sheer annoyance Harry muttered an irritated, "Anapneo," to clear her airways of any residual water.

She spit water like a fount, dry heaving into the fountain.

The liquid, upon contact with the frozen water jerked once, and then crystallized. Becoming shards of ice, shards of being torn from Bellatrix's mouth in small ripping noises.

Harry waited patiently for the water to stop.

And when Bella finally turned back toward him he hit her with two jinxes in rapid succession, one of them was perfectly harmless, the Stickfast Hex, and the second was an Enlarging Charm.

"Colloshoo!"

Augeo!"

The first stuck Bella fastly to the stone fountains rim so Harry was able to stop pushing her against it with the continuous use of another charm.

The second charm, an enlargement charm, directed to her hand, towards her fingernails.

Her hand, which Harry delicately grasped in his own. Tracing her fingernails with the tip of his holly wand, watching detachedly as the spell took effect. However instead of enlarging the length of her nails forwards, they went backwards. The keratin nails shoving themselves backwards and into the flesh of Bella's hand, lengthening inside the witch's skin. Causing ripples to emerge on the top side of her fingers as the skin stretched upwards and muscle ripped inwards to make new room available for her own body's invasion.

Harry tucked her hand back down to her side, and lit his wand with a simple Lumos Solem, directed his wand once again, concentrating to slow the flow of energy to his wand.

To make the spell smaller, narrower, less overwhelming and wide.

Harry wanted it as strong as steel but as small as a Muggle needle's head.

It was a useful little spell, one that captured sunlight, and directed it to the wizard's own uses. The black robe's arm sleeve split, along with the thin long sleeve shirt under it, exposing the witch's arm to the freezing air that pervaded the Atrium.

The Hogwart's student directed his wand towards Bellatrix's arm, the following shrieks informed him that he'd met his target as the skin on the former Black witch's arm began to sizzle and burn.

Small shallow incisions appeared on her skin, nothing that couldn't be healed by a quick Episkey, but Harry knew enough about human physiology from Hermione to know the more continuous pain he caused the quicker her body would shut down to protect itself from the pain.

So he kept his cuts shallow, pausing every now and then to make sure she stayed conscious.

Random patterns now drawn in her skin he moved on.

He wanted to carve _his_ name into her arm.

A permanent reminder.

Lestrange snarled at him, fighting uselessly against the sticking charm and jarring her arm in the process, causing his burns to transfer onto the fountain, melting some of the ice.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she rose curling uselessly in the air, when he levitated her a dozen or so meters above the fountain.

And dropped her.

Lestrange's body hit the ice with a satisfying crack, splitting the ice and sinking quickly down beneath the surface. The fountain was only few meters deep so the witch didn't have far to go.

But nevertheless, Harry made haste with quickly sealing the surface ice back up.

"Glacius."

Sitting on the fountain's edge he watched her black shape move beneath the surface, frantically pounding on the ice above her head. If Harry strained his eyes he could see bubbles swirling about her mass, trying to escape.

Someone began clapping.

Slow, loud claps that echoed off of the peacock blue walls of the Atrium, reverberating throughout the empty room.

He barely stopped himself from jerking upwards in shock, horror sliced through him, he hadn't even noticed that there was someone else in the room. Harry was even more shocked he hadn't felt the usual agony at Voldemort's arrival, and sickeningly relieved that it wasn't the Order who'd been watching.  

All he could feel from Voldemort was surprise, still no pain... and a disturbing amount of delight. That wasn't what made his jaw drop and stand there like a witless gaping fool for several moments though. 

Voldemort had hair.

And a face.

He was still tall with pitless red eyes but Riddle had a face. A face other than the snake-like one Harry'd been expecting.

Gone was the one that had come out of the cauldron nearly a year ago on that terrifying night.

Gone was gaunt ghostly white face, and the snake-like slits he had for eyes. His skeletally thin form had been replaced with a profile that more resembled an older version Tom Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets.

The nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils had been replaced with an aquiline nose that actually resembled a human being.

The only thing that remained unchanged about Voldemort's appearance were his hands with longer slender fingers that gripped his wand loosely.

And those pitless red eyes. 

Slowly feeling began to flood back through his veins, and Harry started to realize how cold the Atrium was, his hands were trembling a little, breath coming in nervous little puffs. He fisted them in his robe to hide them.

"Harry Potter... quite a position you've gotten yourself into."

Even his voice had changed-high and piercing had turned to deep and bass. Harry wasn't sure if that amused tone was a good. Amusement had never been a good thing in the past- it was usually accompanied by curses- but then again almost all of Voldemort's emotions seemed to end up there. 

He took a deep steadying breath, tinges of fear making his wand hand want to twitch again.

"I didn't expect you to come in person." A pause,"Your followers were getting along smashingly downstairs."

Voldemort ignored his last remark.

"Have you been having fun with Bella? She's quite amusing on her good days."

"You interrupted." Was there a nervous catch in his voice, "it was impolite," what the bloody hell was he saying?!

"Dear Harry, you were torturing my servant, whom was being impolite?" Voldemort raised a single black eyebrow, but his eyes were amused not wrathful. Harry felt sick, Riddle never varied to far from the usual script of taunts and curses, this new territory somehow felt even more dangerous. 

"You don't think she deserved it?" Don't fuck this up Potter. 

Riddle laughed, it wasn't that cold high laugh Harry had heard a year ago in the graveyard, it was rich and deep, but just as cruel. And still sent a tremor down the Gryffindor's back.

"Oh, Harry I have no doubt in my mind that she deserved it... I'm merely surprised you defeated Bella at her own game... not many do that." He didn't sound surprised, or impressed.

 

A drop of sweat ran down his back, the icy shivers running over him weren't just because of blood loss, his breath was coming in white puffs. Now it was Harry's eyes catching on fireplaces and floo powder. He didn't know what game that Voldemort was playing but he'd been squashed enough times at chess by Ron to know when he was being played. 

This had to be the strangest conversation he'd ever had in his life…

"You usually underestimate me." He must have a death wish. 

Riddle looked like he might laugh again, "Yes, however you've displayed before me a certain... creativity that many of my followers..." his fell back on to Bella, "lack."

"Yeah, the Cruciatus gets old fast, quite frankly I was expecting more with how she goes on about being trained at your hand." Harry sneered. It felt odd.

"Yes, she has an amusing fixation with Muggle weapons- purebloods dabble, before returning to their wands believing themselves too evolved for them, never bothering to have the patience to truly master a form." Voldemort commented dryly, eyes flashing with amusement. He held his wand loosely, but watched the raven haired boy like a snake.

 

"Then what's the point," he demanded, "blanketing the area with Cruciatus until she fries some poor bloke's nerves and they stop feeling the pain," his mind flashes back painfully to Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom making his next words even worse, "and they end up being worse than useless anyway."

At some point after that out loud contemplation Harry became aware that Voldemort was staring at him contemplatively. 

Bella had killed the boy's godfather. He'd wanted revenge. All so simple and boring motives, but with such a delicious outcome that no one else could have planned it better, except perhaps himself 

Voldemort's scarlet eyes scanned him.

The Potter boy was broken, crumpled like a Muggle tin can. But not completely useless, he thought observing the Gryffindor speculatively. The boy still had his merits, and now, now the boy knew the prophecy. That fact, in and of itself, was more than enough reason not to kill him for the time being. He'd just become a lot more valuable, until he managed to regurgitate that prophecy. Bella killing Black could have been the best news yet.

The boy was waiting for a response, "Many of your housemates... and Dumbledore," here Voldemort's lip curled luridly, "may not agree with that assessment."

"I didn't ask for Dumbledore or my housemates opinion." The teen said flatly, "If I wanted that I'd lock myself up and save them the trouble."

One of Riddle's new eyebrows raised.

"By all means we wouldn't want to see that happen, now would we." Riddle said silkily.

"I was asking for your opinion?"

Gliding closer with a smirk curling around his lips the Dark Lord spoke again.

"Then I would have to agree with your assessment, however I can _assure_ you my repertoire contains quite more creativity than my followers." his cruel smirk was practically begging to give Harry wanted a demonstration.

"You may want to release Bella from her position,"

Harry looked at him silently.

"Unless you truly mean to kill her." Voldemort continued, calling his bluff.

"Wizards and witches can survive more than muggles, but Bella has yet to master any significant wandless casting." Voldemort continued.

Harry was torn, unwilling to turn his back on the Dark Lord, and also wanting to give Lestrange up to the Aurors.

"Glacius."

The ice cracked open, and he levitated Bellatrix out, her body was limp and steamed as soon as it hit the warmer air outside the frozen fountain.

She wasn't dead- just unconscious. She'd been under for just over three minutes.

A warming charm and enervate later ensured she wouldn't die of hypothermia or develop pneumonia from any fluid in her lungs. Barely strong enough to breath, Bella- as Voldemort called her- wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

Voldemort practically flew her into one of the fire places, and she disappeared into the Floo System. Bitter disappointment filled the Gryffindor when he turned back to Voldemort.

"Why did you send me here?"

Harry'd been having dreams all year, he deserved to know. If Dumbledore still planned to ignore his every breath after this then for Merlin's sake the fucking Dark Lord had better tell him.

Riddle smiled thinly towards the child.

"I wanted the prophecy, I couldn't enter the Ministry myself so I sent you and your friends on a little mission to retrieve it for me." The assumption that the boy would cough up the prophecy was obvious, Potter wouldn't make it five meters without giving it to him. Not that the boy would be leaving even after surrendering it into his hands. Torturing Bella had been an amusing distraction but he'd waited fourteen years to be rid of the boy, his focus wouldn't sway now.

"What makes you think I have it?"

The boy was deflecting. Riddle could feel his first stirrings of rage.

"I've waited longer than you've been alive to hear it," circling closer, "do you truly believe you're able to withhold it from me?"

The boy never got the chance to answer.

"It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom," Dumbledore had appeared out of nowhere, "the Aurors are on their way."

Not a single word escaped the Dark Lord, the man didn't even direct a glance toward Dumbledore, or seem surprised by his sudden appearance.

His eyes remained locked on Harry, red irises burning into him and pressing against his mind. His meager barriers shredded like tissue paper. Voldemort's presence in his mind was  painful, but not agonizing as he'd come to expect from the multitude of dreams over the past two years or his encounters with Snape. Instead the Dark Lord's presence had been... like a mental embrace. A shudder went through him. The sensation of someone running their hand through his hair. Harry could feel the Slytherin inside of him, in his head.

A message.

It had only lasted seconds, but already, along with Voldemort's mental presence his physical presence had disappeared as well.

The man had gone.

And along with him went the Ministry's wards, wards that felt just as ancient as the ones on the Hogwart's grounds. These were the wards which had protected the Ministry from any physical and forceful invasion for over a millenia. He'd later find out that Voldemort's seemingly innocuous conversation with him had been intended as a distraction to give him time to take down the Ministry wards. Voldemort had shredded the ancient wards in the three minutes Harry'd held Bella under the ice, Harry had merely been a distraction. After being gone in a manner of seconds. The ancient wards had been left ravaged in his wake and torn to shreds like strips of clothing left to scatter in the breeze.

Harry felt naked underneath the Atrium ceiling. Unlearned and ignorant of this magic, but still able to feel the sporadic aftereffects.

The breaking of the wards, the abrupt popping arrival of the Aurors apparting in as they heard the Ministry alarms sounding. With the aurors also came the the Death Eaters appearing by the dozens.

For every one of the Ministry's appearing there were three of Voldemort's touching down right next to them. Wand to wand they fought ferociously under the Death Eaters strong assault, the bright flashes of light lit up the defenseless Ministry. Key members of the Wizengamot were being assassinated all around England, and top Ministry officials were having their homes set alight with their entire families trapped inside.

Voldemort's second debut into the Wizarding World happened in at three o'clock in the morning, this re entry into the world of magic was accompanied by calls for reinforcements on the Ministry's side and the slaughtering of over seventy-five witches and wizards.

With such a small magical population the Dark Lord hadn't planned a massive full scale attack on any major wizarding cities, Voldemort wanted to purify the magical world, not commit genocide, there'd be no wizarding world left for him. There would be deaths, but none of them unwarranted for the cause.

So it was on that June night in nineteen ninety-seven at three o'clock exactly in the Atrium of the Ministry that Voldemort took over.

It wasn't an especially large battle, this was more of a strategic if not political move.

The sacrifice of a few pawns on the Dark Lord's part for the white queen.

The Minister was dead.

The Ministry had fallen.

The Light Side's players were crippled.

The Dark Lord's reign had begun.

All Hail the Dark Lord.


	2. Chapter 2

Dumbledore's office was silent.

The portraits which copiously littered the walls were snoring loudly in their antique frames, heads lolling back in armchairs or against the edge of their pictures.and Fawkes looking as regal as ever was posing quietly on his perch. When Harry sank into the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk Fawkes had immediately perched himself on the Gryffindor's leg, it was a small comfort, but a large show of support....one Harry would not likely be receiving from any other being. Everything seemed to have repaired itself during the headmaster's absence. The delicate silver instruments stood again upon the spindle-legged tables, puffing and whirring serenely. Harry looked out the window. There was a gentle line of pale green along the horizon: dawn was approaching. 

Dumbledore wasn't looking as the fifth year stroked Fawkes's magnificent red plumage. Still after an entire year of ignoring him, after the scene at the ministry, he still wasn't able to look him in the eyes. He felt like a child, and Harry hadn't been treated like a child since he was a year old.

Dumbledore was treating him like a child in the worst possible way, offering protection without comfort or support, this was the year when Harry had needed it most. It felt like the worst betrayal of all- to be ignored and forgotten after being kidnapped, tortured, and reliving Cedric's death, while his friends, his schoolmates, and the entire wizarding world turning against him. In a single school year he'd been tortured by a teacher for months, and under threat of Cruciatus he'd turned to Snape... Snape! of all people on this planet Severus Snape had been his best choice to turn to for help. The only person who'd ever had his best intentions at heart while treating him like her own child had been Molly Weasley- and Dumbledore had certainly offered none of her smothering comfort. 

The silence and stillness of his surroundings were broken only by a portraits occasional snort or sleepy mumble. Being left to his own thoughts was unbearable, Fawkes resting gently on his knee was the only anchor in his world. If Dumbledore's office could have reflected the turmoil inside him the portraits would have been writhing and shrieking in pain just as Lestrange had been minutes earlier. His breaths came quick and sharp, trying not to think, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his chest that threatened to strangle him, or to provoke hot tears just behind his eyelids. 

 

_This was his fault._

All of it was his fault. 

He was the one who'd been stupid enough to fall for Voldemort's trick, if he'd only opened his mind to the possibility that Voldemort was tricking him, sending him visions. If only he'd paid a bit more attention to Snape's vile Occlumency lessons, or realized the dream wasn't _real_ , if he'd tried _harder_ , if he'd done something _different_. If he didn't have such a _goddamn love of playing the hero._

He wouldn't stand to think about it, it felt like someone was clawing at his skin, ripping at his face, and grasping at the gaping hollowness inside him. A frothing gaping hole that _he_ had vanished from. He wanted to cling to Fawkes's comforting light, did not want to have to be alone with that writhing void.

He couldn't say the words, he couldn't even think them. To say it, to think it aloud would be to make it final, absolute, irretrievable. His entire being reviled the thought- it was unacceptable, his entire being rejected the notion.  

"Well, Harry," Dumbledore finally spoke, "you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events."

 Other than a small tightening of Harry's hand in Fawkes plumage the Gryffindor gave no other indication of hearing a word the Headmaster had spoken. 

Harry could not speak, he desperately wanted to leave, but felt frozen to the chair completely unable to move. The guilt threatening to engulf his chest felt monstrous, a weighty parasite squirming and writhing inside the void that was his chest. 

Even now Dumbledore still wasn't looking at him. 

Every word seemed like a reminder of what he'd done. 

"Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up now," Dumbledore continued on, " Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St. Mungo's, but it seems that she will make a full recovery."

Avoiding the subject. Harry's own mind had certainly done much of that tonight, even now, stroking Fawkes he could feel his mind skittering around and hitting upon the easiest train of thought. The change in Riddle's appearance was shocking, even more shocking that he'd never had a vision or been given any indication such a drastic alteration was going to occur. Perhaps it was a glamour, but if so what advantages could it possibly have? Humanizing himself to his followers seemed to go in the opposite direction of what Voldemort had been trying to achieve thus far. And why, for Merlin's sake, would Riddle actually engage in conversation with him?! Conversation without torture wasn't his usual mode of operation, he'd even seemed amused or impressed by he predicament Bellatrix was in, if the clapping was indicative of anything. He'd been almost... _kind_. A shudder went down Harry's spine at the very conception of Voldemort being _kind_. 

"I know how you are feeling, Harry."

Not a word escaped the teen, nothing could encompass the icy rage he was still feeling, the boy couldn't even look at the man before him, at this point he wasn't even ready to consider the despair flickering at the edge of his vision, and held at bay by Fawkes. Just focused on the phoenix on his lap. Breathing softly, in... and out... in... and out, counting each inhalation and exhalation in turn, Muggles said you should count to ten before doing anything rash. Ten counts came and went, and Harry was well on his way to twenty when Dumbledore spoke again.

"Tonight never should have happened, my boy." 

It was those words that did it. The cold fury that had settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach, roiling like one of those awful potions Snape brewed burst forth, bubbling and spewing all over, leaving nothing but vitriol in its path. 

One by one the instruments and portraits littering Dumbledore's office began to tremble, vibrating and shaking portraits toppled off the wall, then the instruments imploded, one by one, as if someone had pulled their feet out from under them, like puppets with their strings cut. Then Sneakoscopes the Lunascopes and various golden and silver instruments were next.

And as he stared into that things blue eyes, Harry once again felt possessed by that blinding ice cold hatred. Like someone had dropped his body off in the arctic without so much as a by your leave, his lips felt frozen as if they couldn't form the words.

"Your right, Headmaster. Tonight should not have _fucking_ happened..." he'd never sworn at a Professor before. His voice was quiet, barely heard over the rooms stillness. One small corner of his brain observed that the portraits appeared to be frozen again.

"Tonight could have been avoided, could have never even been a _thought_ on the horizon of a _dream_." his voice cracked.

Dumbledore interrupted, "I know how you're feeling, Harry," he said it very quietly but the words felt like slap.

"No, you don't," said Harry, it felt like he was choking on the words, his chest hurt again.

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, on the contrary... the fact that you can feel pain like this so deeply and so fully is your greatest strength." 

In that moment Harry truly hated the Headmaster, white hot anger licked his insides, blazing in the terrible empty void, filling him up with a violent _need_ to _hurt_ Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words. He stood up abruptly, and immediately felt the loss when Fawkes returned to his perch. 

"My greatest strength... you... have no.... _clue_ , headmaster." That violent impulse surged rapidly, the urge to make Dumbledore _feel_ , and to make him _hurt_ like he was hurting now reemerged. 

"Harry, this suffering proves that you are still a man, this pain that you're feeling is part of being human-" 

**"Then I don't want to be human"**

The words tore themselves from his throat, coming in a deluge that wouldn't stop once they'd been released. 

"I've had _enough_ , seen enough, done enough, I don't want to _feel_ , I don't want to _care_ anymore!" He was screaming, felt like he'd swallowed glass to feed the void in his chest. He almost sobbed, now it would match all the slices, and scars on the outside

"I want it to stop, I want it to end." The thought of it almost drove him to his knees. 

"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a move to prevent Harry from destroying his office, in fact, his expression was calm, almost detached. Harry almost flinched- pierced by his dispassionate expression. 

The hot tears that he'd been struggling so hard to hold back welled up and ran down his cheeks- it felt like blood. 

"You care so much that you feel as though you will bleed to death wit the pain of it. You have now lost our mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known," 

The man was still so damn _calm_. 

" _Stop_. Just _stop_ saying those things." He wished Dumbledore had said something, anything else. Accusations of guilt, hatred, condemnations would have been better than this- they were all things he deserved. The Headmaster's every word- recounting every loss- each felt like a betrayal of the worst sort. He hadn't realized he could feel any worse, could feel beyond tears, when they finally stopped and left cold tear-tracks. All he could think about was how much he wanted to die. To stop feeling, to run, and keep running until he didn't have to see clear blue eyes staring back at him. 

 "-my dear boy tonight very well could have been avoided had you kept faith-"

"Faith," he whispered, a hiss almost escaping at the end. "You wanted for me to keep... faith,"

_How could a person feel so **broken**_

"in a person who can't be bothered for ten minutes... ten seconds of time. You wish for me took keep FAITH in a man who has denied an answer to a question I asked nearly four years ago as a first year in the Hospital Wing."

 

"I had FAITH then," he spat. "Faith in a man like you that got me nowhere. Just an empty head full of questions and no answers, answers that were meant to be too great for my childlike mind to bear. That same mind you supposed that I hold currently, after everything that has happened in these past four years. Basilisks, Riddle, werewolves, Dementors, Pettigrew, the Tournament, dragons, Cedric's murder, being kidnapped by a man that has given me more answers about why he does what he does than you have! Nearly being murdered for Merlin knows what time, being cut open, Crucioed, Imperiused, and attacked by a Death Eater disguised as my teacher, not including anything that's happened all year. After all of this you... expect... me... to trust... you?!" 

The office was shaking again, the stones beneath his feet trembling, and an awful cracking noise travelled up the wall behind him. 

He'd given _everything_ , his heart, soul, his _family_. If there was one thing he lacked- it _damn_ well wasn't faith. 

He'd spent his entire life being repeatedly being thrown to both the literal and proverbial wolves with no explanation for his troubles, Voldemort had given him more reasons to end his life than Dumbledore had given him to live. 

The windows shattered. 

 

Finally... finally Dumbledore began to look alarmed.

He felt so _broken_.

"Harry," he started, concern beginning to build behind his eyes. 

Walking over to the window Harry gazed down at the Quidditch Pitch, dawn had yet to be broken, yet to give life and spray sunlight and color over the grounds. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back from the window, turned on his heel and practically ran to the door.

 

He left. Left the Headmaster's office without a backward glance, gripping the door handle tight and wrenching it towards him, dropping the knob on the floor when it cracked off in his hand.

He had nothing left.

He couldn't go to Gryffindor Tower, people would be there, the very last thing he wanted to do was see or worse; talk to anyone. The Room of Requirement had been overrun by the Inquisitorial Squad, there was no where left. Nowhere left that was sacred, untouched and pristine by outside hands.

For most of the journey Harry wasn't even aware of where he was going, mind blank as he continued down staircases, travelled through doorways and arches, until finally he arrived.

The Quidditch Pitch. Pristine, untouched with its gentle, flat green grass that swayed gently in the moonlight. It was touched by moonlight that was peeking from beneath the clouds turning the entire stadium inside out with shadows. _He'd_ come there once, disguised as the shaggy black dog, to watch Harry play... had probably come to see whether Harry was as good as James had been... Harry had never asked him....

 

For a very long time Harry didn't move, most times he couldn't resist being on the pitch without his broom, it usually felt so calming. He couldn't speak, couldn't bring himself to feel much of anything really. Somewhere far beyond the pitch Harry could hear the voices of students waking up, heading down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast. It seemed impossible, in wake of deep void in his chest, that there could be people in the world who still desired food. People who laughed, and felt deeply, who neither knew nor cared that Sirius Black was gone forever. Sirius seemed a million miles away already, even if a part of Harry still clawed with a desperate hope that if he had only pulled back that veil, he would have found Sirius looking back at him, greeting him, perhaps with his laugh like a bark, eyes filled with love.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to offer some support, but Harry is (unfortunately) in for a long road ahead of him. Oddly enough I'm still not sure where I want this story to go, I love the plot (it massively intrigues me) but I'd love any ideas or input. I have a lot of plot points fleshed out and written but some places are quite bare, and I've yet to decide (fully) upon an endgame for Harry. 
> 
> My love is strong! :) 
> 
> Kasamira

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> I hope you liked it
> 
> Your friend in time, 
> 
> Kasamira


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